[m] - blackbird singing in the dead of night

Alaine Winters · 12-18-2010, 03:15 AM

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table © Mel
wc: 300+

It happened too quickly for retaliation. Too quickly for compromise. Her body hit cold earth with force enough to sweep the air from her lungs - A quick inhale filled them with cold, cold, cold. His eyes were demonic. Her throat constricted in fear, the dagger having been dropped, laying inches now from her trapped hands, bruised wrists.

The shadow in her receded to deep crevices. It saw the hunter and knew defeat. Unguarded, her mind brimmed with terror.

His body was heavy, and warm. Strands of dark hair whispered over her upturned face as his, ghastly, lingered but an inch away. Her own spilled, a bloody puddle, about her head. Gabriel's breath was hot and tepid, and for a moment, she saw not his face, but the face of another, the face of her nightmares, her every aching phobia. The face that had haunted her for a lifetime - Vidar. Blood turned to ice in the woman's veins. She did not struggle, but froze in his hateful embrace.

Words triggered some sort of consciousness from her terror. That was not his voice, that was the voice of the prince and the Shadow. That was the voice of irony; All he spoke had come to pass. A single tear slid down her cheek, the woman's fractured mask revealing for a moment the gaping black hole of her life, the life he hadn't known, the life he hadn't saved her from. A sickly laugh bubbled in her chest, ebbing out into the silence like a quiet scream.

"You wouldn't hurt me, Omra súile..." She trembled with the fear that rode her body like waves, a small spasm of pain breaking her mask in two, "I was a princess, once..." And she laughed that terrible, cold laugh again, but this time it sounded like a sob.

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